


Stand Alone

by kishuku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishuku/pseuds/kishuku
Summary: The demon is dead and gone, so Sam, true to his word, is preparing to leave. After everything they’ve gone through this is the last straw for Dean and something snaps. Truth is he needs Sam, even if Sam doesn’t need him.Occurs at the end of Season One.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	Stand Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old (very old) fic of mine from 2006 when I was still very much into the Supernatural Fandom.
> 
> It is, as mentioned before, a rape fic. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS IS NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA.

“Hey, Sam, I bought some coffee from the diner. I get the chocolate Danish—” Dean stopped, two to-go cups balanced in one hand and a brown bag dangling from the other, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sam looked up at him guiltily, packed bags sitting at his feet and hand still clutched around a pen, mid-way through a note. Dean’s gaze flickered back and forth between the bags at Sam’s feet to the note to Sam’s face as rapid realization settled in. Somehow he managed to fumble the hot coffee onto the cheap motel table. The bag of Danishes weren’t so lucky and plummeted to the floor.

“Sam. Sammy, wh-what are you doing?” Dean asked, disbelief thick in his voice, but the horrifying truth all too real in his eyes.

Sam couldn’t look at his brother, instead staring down at the half-completed note. He gave the pen a nervous roll and straightened up to face Dean. The guilty expression wiped away to be replaced with a defiant angry look Dean was all too familiar with, it was the one he always saw on Sam’s face when he was gearing up for an argument with their father.

“What’s it look like?” Sam tossed back.

The following silence stretched into the realm of awkwardness.

It was Dean who finally broke the silence. “Whew, talk about 9-month-pregnant pauses,” he tried to joke. “Sam, I know Dad’s gone and—”

“I’m done, Dean. The demon’s dead and it’s over,” Sam interrupted. He pressed his lips together angrily, then reached over and scooped up his bags. “I’m leaving. I said I was leaving when this was all over and, Dean, it’s over.”

“But there are still things out there, Sam! They’re still out there killing people, we need to—” Dean tried.

“No! No, Dean! We don’t need to do anything! We don’t need it,” the look Sam regarded Dean with was sad and pitying. “You need it.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“You need it, Dean. It’s what Dad trained us for and you’re good at it. It’s what you are. You’re a hunter, Dean.” Sam let the words sink in, “I’m not. I won’t be defined by this life Dad left to us. I’m leaving.”

“Please,” it was mere whisper, but Sam heard it, saw Dean’s lips move as he begged.

Sam shook his head, shifted his backpack, shuffled his feet uneasily, and repeated, “I’m leaving.” Sam started to shrug by Dean when he didn’t move away from the door.

Dean’s hand lashed out and Sam flipped backwards over the bed from the force of the shove. He landed hard and awkwardly sprawled over his backpack, he heard something break and prayed it wasn’t the laptop.

“The fu—”

Dean’s first punch caught Sam across the jaw, the second across his cheek, and the third went wild as Sam got up an arm just in time to deflect it. They tussled, a strap was torn and something else cracked as the two brothers grunted and fought for the upper hand. Angry breaths were sucked through gritted teeth as the contents of Sam’s bags jabbed traitorously into his back as he threw a sharp elbow into Dean’s face, which split lip against teeth, blood splattered across them both. An arm smashed into Sam’s face, he saw stars as his nose gushed blood down his throat. He choked and coughed, spraying Dean with a thinned down mix of blood and saliva. A knee to the groin barely deflected into the gut made Dean’s breathe wheeze from him sharply. Dean fisted a gripful of Sam’s hair while his little brother writhed and bucked, struggling to keep Dean from pinning him. Furious, Dean resolved the rest of the fight by slamming his captive’s head hard once, twice against the thin carpeted floor of the motel. Sam’s eyes glazed over and rolled back in his head and he clawed uselessly at Dean’s wrist, dull fingernails scraping away skin and drawing blood; hips bucked feebly as Dean straddled him and held him down with his weight. It seemed vaguely familiar, except for the painful ringing from Sam’s head and Dean’s vicious brutality; it was almost a mirror of that night ages ago at Stanford.

"Don't make me hurt you anymore," Sam heard the hissing words fall from Dean’s lips even as he slammed Sam’s head back on the floor once more. The blow made Sam’s eyes flare wide in pain and shock then lose focus again. His head lolled loosely in Dean’s grip, eyelids fluttering uncontrollably, his clawing hands falling away limply.

Mask the pain. Mask the truth. You fight for this family but the truth is: they don’t need you, not like you need them.

Dean loomed over his brother, both hands braced outside of Sam’s shoulders. Sam lay limp and nearly unconscious beneath him, his face pale and blood splattered, a trickle and smear of it ran from his nose. A rush of possessiveness, protectiveness and lust surged through Dean and quickened the pace of his heart, which felt as though it were brimming with emotion. Emotions that had been hidden away and suppressed for all his life.

It was natural to yank his belt from the loops of his jeans and reach for Sam’s hands, twisting to the side to avoid a direct punch, and bind them over his head. The remaining length of belt bound Sam’s hands to the nearest leg of the bed.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?” Sam slurred, his eyes still unfocused and stunned.

“Shh… I need you, Sammy,” Dean whispered as he pulled the belt from Sam’s jeans, jerking his hips up and making his head spin.

Sam closed his eyes against the vertigo and nausea, “What is this shit? Get off me!” He struggled to sit up, Dean suddenly loomed above him and struck him, once, twice, lashing the belt across Sam’s face.

“I can’t,” Dean dropped the belt to the side, as Sam gasped in pain, his face and head an echoing ache of each other. Dean leaned back to reach for Sam’s shoes, being careful to keep his weight on Sam’s thighs. He tossed one then the other shoe before continuing, “I can’t let you go, Sam. You’re right, I need this.”

They don’t need you, not like you need them.

“I meant the hunting. Hunting things, saving people, you need that, Dean.” Sam tried to reason as he felt hands unbutton his jeans, he squeezed his eyes together tightly in denial and tried to jerk back as hot feverish hands ran across his stomach. “D-Dean…what are you doing?”

“Making you mine. Didn’t you hear me, Sammy? I need you, even if you don’t need me.” Dean’s voice crackled with heartbreak or madness as he stripped Sam’s jeans and underwear down together one leg at a time, being careful to keep his weight on the other leg as he did so.

“Dean, you don’t need—” Sam carefully opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to hold the panic back from his voice.

Don’t need you. You need them.

“Yes!” Dean lunged back, slamming his hands to either side of Sam’s head, face inches away. His eyes were wide, a wild array of emotions dancing madly through them, they blazed forth from his eyes as though they could sear understanding into Sam by boring through his eyes into his brain. Anger. Grief. Self-loathing. Hurt. Need. “I need you, Sam. This,” he sat up and swept his arm in a circle, encompassing everything around them and their past, “is just an excuse. So I can stay with you!” He leaned over again, grinding his forehead into Sam’s bruised cheek. “I’ve let you go before, Sam. Again and again and again, because you asked. I can’t anymore. Don’t ask me to let you go again, Sammy!”

Sam swallowed against the dry fear on his tongue, “Dean, please—”

“Don’t! Don’t ask, Sam! I might… kill you to keep you!” Dean snatched up Sam’s discarded belt and looped it around Sam’s shoulder, then reached down for his right leg and bound Sam so that his knee was pulled as close to his shoulder as possible. It spread and stretched him, holding him open and helpless to Dean who pressed in against his body between his spread legs, a hand restraining Sam’s other leg.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit,” Sam muttered, panic beginning to rise uncontrollably inside of him. His brain tumbled over itself trying to think of something, anything to say to Dean. To stop him or even to slow him down. Sam’s litany stopped abruptly when Dean dropped himself down over his brother, his erection grinding against Sam’s flaccid penis as Dean mouthed kisses over Sam’s cheek, neck and shoulder. He left smears of blood from his lip as he went, ignoring the sting as he pressed it against salty skin. He raked his fingers hard over Sam’s ribs, clawing at him through his shirt, making his body jerk in response.

“Dean, don’t do this! Dean, please! Please!” Sam’s voice cracked with the last word, panic and fear making it a near shriek.

“Don’t beg, Sam! Don’t!” Dean sat up, eyes blazing with anger. He laid a hand against Sam’s throat, he saw the pulse jumping erratically and the movement as Sam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Dean pressed down and felt the hardness of the windpipe and trachea beneath the skin against his hand, he rolled his hand along Sam’s throat, feeling the roll of ridges beneath his hand and the beat of Sam’s heart against the palm of his hand. He tightened his grip and watched as Sam’s eyes widen, his mouth gaped open, and his body thrashed against the bonds and Dean’s weight. “Be quiet, Sam. Promise to be quiet,” Dean pleaded in a whisper.

Sam nodded, more of a vague bob but Dean released him. Sam turned his head to the side after his lungs dragged in a huge breath and coughed, Dean regarded his hand with an expression of regret because he couldn’t feel Sam’s heartbeat through his palm anymore. Once the coughing fit passed Sam was true to his word and quiet, the panic in his eyes had receded, but the fear was still there lurking just beneath the surface. Those fear filled eyes watched him from a mask of blood, some of it his and some of it Dean’s. Dean leaned over and licked a half dry smear of it from the corner of Sam’s mouth, Sam grunted and jerked his face away but didn’t say anything.

He could feel the throb in his split lip then, almost in time with the throb of his aching erection. Both pulsed with the heady flow of blood through his veins on circuit from his racing heart. Dean licked his own lip slowly, tracing the break in the skin, the sting of saliva in torn flesh. He could taste Sam’s blood there as well, it was different than his own, sweeter and spicy with anger. It was a heady rush.

Dean began working his way down his brother’s body, licking and biting, marking Sam as he went. He left a bite mark over Sam’s heart, teethmarks ringing the cringing nipple, he could feel the heat rising from the bite through Sam’s saliva-wet shirt. It would bruise and remain for days. It made Dean smile against Sam’s skin as he pressed his lips against his brother’s stomach. Sam’s quick shallow breaths made his stomach jump and it was a rhythm Dean longed to mimic with other parts of his body.

“Dean,” Sam ventured to speak again after Dean had pressed his face against his stomach for long minutes and done nothing more than breathe softly against his skin. It was the calmest Dean had been since Sam’s announcement. “Dean?”

Suddenly hands were pushing, rolling Sam back onto his shoulders, fingers biting painfully into the thigh of his free leg to hold him in position as a hot tongue, wet and pliant, shockingly stiff but soft, licked at him and then pushed inside of him, surprisingly deep.

“No!”

Sam felt a wave of disgust roll through him as he was deliberately and thoroughly tongue fucked by his brother. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t be watching Dean as he licked his way across Sam’s slack balls and uninterested cock, which dangled limply over Sam’s face. Dean paused to take in Sam’s expression, eyes closed, face turned to the side and teeth clenched together so tightly the muscles in his jaw rippled. Dean returned to tonguing the bit of puckered flesh behind Sam’s balls, using his thumb to help him dive his tongue even deeper inside Sam’s body, its motion pushing and probing him from the inside. Sam let out a shiver and a gasp that almost toppled him over as some sensation shocked through him, it was almost pleasurable.

What the fuck?!

Then Dean was lowering him back down, Sam let out a groan as his weight was relieved off his shoulders and the warm wet feel of Dean’s mouth left him. Sam thrashed vainly against his restraints. The hand on his thigh tightened painfully, he could feel Dean’s fingernails digging into his flesh, skin splitting beneath the grip and drawing blood. Sam felt it trickle down the inside of his thigh, smearing as Dean flexed his hand. It matched the blood smeared over his mouth and down his chin from the split in his lip.

“Dean, stop. I’ll stay. I won’t leave. Just… stop this.”

“I can’t, Sam.” Dean leaned into Sam, his erection pressing against that tight pucker. He was rock-hard and dripping, he rubbed himself into Sam’s crack, the belt holding one leg up and the other held in Dean’s grasp, spreading him wantonly before Dean. “I need you. I have to have you.”

“Don’t—”

The rest was choked off as Dean pushed, relentlessly advancing forward until he was buried to an ultimate depth within that warm tight heat. Sam cried out, arching away so that Dean nearly slipped out as soon as he had entered. Dean’s other hand dropped to Sam’s hip and held him as he shoved past and surged deep into his brother’s heat. Sam’s entire body was quivering, voice silenced, as Dean paused luxuriously embraced by that incredible ring of muscle and lost in a wave of completeness. Sam was his.

His… his at last.

Dean drew back and drove himself back inside, claiming his brother in a way no one else had before, satisfaction and possessiveness mingled together as he moved. Sam’s body shuddered beneath the rhythmic assault, bruised and aching, his thighs tense and cramped from the unaccustomed strain of being spread wide and invaded by the hard slick flesh that pounded into him so hard it hurt. It hurt as though he were being torn apart, torn in half. Blood ran down Sam’s chin where he had bitten his lip to hold back the screams as he was raped, saliva and pre-come acting as mediocre lubricants. The only sounds that escaped were grunts of discomfort and pain when Dean thrust particularly hard or deep. Sam stared at the ceiling, refusing to link Dean to the assault, still in a kind of denial that Dean could do this to him. Muscles bunched and contracted as Dean surged deeper, aware of nothing but the burn and heat that surrounded him, the hard clench of flesh, twisted raw nerves screaming at him as he spun faster and faster towards… the edge. Dean tumbled over the edge and his hips jerked uncontrollably as pulse after pulse of fluid pumped from him like a heartbeat. The heartbeat that pumped his blood stopped as he came, forcing his come into the tight passage that gripped him. Dean shook as the last of it left him, he could still feel the fine tremors that shook Sam’s body, the ring of muscle clenching around his sated flesh, trying to push him out and sending aftershocks of over sensitized pleasure racing up his spine. Dean groaned at the sensations and thrust experimentally a few times, even though he was only semi-hard he was still inside Sam. It sent spikes of pleasure shooting through Sam, sharp and unexpected, he arched back in shock. He struggled weakly, enough to make his head spin.

“Sammy, you were made for me to fuck.”

Dean moved and it made him brush up against places inside Sam that had him gasping and shuddering despite himself. Dean leaned back and smiled as he reached a hand down between their bodies and grasped Sam’s semi-hard cock. He gave it a few strokes as he pushed up into Sam’s body, Sam rocked his hips back trying to escape and bit his lip again, drawing fresh blood as pleasure shot through him again. Sam’s vision tunneled as tears leaked unnoticed from the corner of his eyes.

“Dean, don’t… don’t ask me to enjoy being raped!” Sam gasped out. To his shock Dean released him, then raised himself, carefully drawing himself from Sam’s body. It hurt, in a vague burning kind of way, leaving behind an unfamiliar ache and a tense sting.

Dean rolled back to sit on his heels as he tucked himself back into his jeans, then reached forward, ignoring Sam’s flinch, to undo the belts. As soon as Sam’s hands were free he was on his feet in a flash, ignoring the screams of his body as cramped muscles and strained joints were suddenly forced into action. Dean scooted up until he was seated on the edge of one of the beds. Sam snatched up his clothes and jerked on his pants, leaving the belt discarded on the floor. He glimpsed crescent shaped fingernail marks, bruises in the shape of hands and fingers, as well as a few smears of blood. His mind shied away from the thoughts and Sam resolved to deal with it later, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely button his jeans. He clenched them into fists as soon as he was done.

“Dean?”

“Hn?”

Sam turned, put all his weight behind his fist as he lashed out and smashed into Dean’s face. Dean’s head snapped to the side and his body twisted as he fell back onto the bed he was seated on. Sam snatched up his bags and bolted.

Dean lay there while his face throbbed, his mind making a mental tally.

Sam was injured, minor injuries. He was on foot with baggage because the keys to their stolen car were still in Dean’s pocket. The fake credit cards were all in Dean’s wallet. Sam probably had less than 20 dollars in his pocket. The nearest hospital was at least 10 miles away and the busses were few and far between. Dean rolled onto his back and figured he had time for a shower, change of clothes and some food.

Sam would be easy prey.

Because hunting was what Dean was good at.


End file.
